


I Should Have Told You

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Confessions of love, Death of a Spouse, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Homeless Network, M/M, Pining, Post-Reichenbach, Prostitution, beginning relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John each pine in their own way before they finally find their way to happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Should Have Told You

**Author's Note:**

> If John sleeping with a prostitute while he grieves for Sherlock is going to mess with you, don't read this.
> 
> If brief mentions of Mary being a villian who meets her death is going to bother you, don't read this.
> 
> Thanks to Merindab (janto321) and jaimistoryteller for beta reading.

One of the numerous informants in his network, Jacky, bore a striking resemblance to Sherlock, though a good 10 years younger. Dark curls, soft cupid’s bow lips. His skin was more olive in tone and he certainly didn’t have the high cheekbones, but they could have been taken for brothers at least. 

“You had something to report?” The gentleman in the dark suit swiveled his chair around to meet his guest.

“Yes, sir. Last night started off right enough. Couple of handies and then a fellow I refused on account of him wanting me to get into a car with him. Next comes this older bloke. Sandy blond hair gone a bit grey. Limped a bit. Talking about my mouth, sir. ‘Cock sucking lips.’ Sorry, but that’s what they say. They all do, but he was more keen than any. And he didn’t want me to talk. Said I’d lose my fee if I did. 

“‘Sh...sh,’ he said and a’first I thought he was reminding me to stay quiet like he asked.” 

The gentleman behind the desk made a twirling gesture with his hand, expression clearly saying ‘get on with it’ in a way that made words unnecessary. Listening, he steepled his long fingers beneath his chin in thought. 

“Changed his mind halfway through. Didn’t just want a suck and gave me a hundred quid to turn arse up. Used protection, all gentlemanlike, though. Kind touches, soft words. Not often like that, sure, but that weren’t the strangest, nor what brought me here.

“Just afore he… finished, he said, ‘I love you. Should have...should have told you, Sherlock.’ He said it plain as day. You said you wanted to know if I heard that name in any way at all, specially if it were unusual, sir. And that seemed to fit the bill.”

“Thank you, Jacky.” He held out a twenty pound note and a phone. 

“Sir?” Jacky pocketed the money, still staring at the phone.

“If you see him again, let me know right away. This number is the only one programmed in.” His lips twisted in an almost smile as he added, “Off you get. I’ve work to do. But make sure you grab a bite in the kitchen before you leave.”

He remembered well that the streets were a hard place to be and he was glad to help when he could.

When the boy had gone, Sherlock leaned back in his chair, fingers just touching his lips as he blew out his breath in a great, heaving sigh. Shaking his head, his eyes slipped closed as he whispered, “Oh, John, what are you doing?”

\---

Jacky hadn’t called.

A year on since then and everything had been going fine. It was nearly finished when he was captured. The last few days had been an endless cycle of interrogation and beating, often left sagging in his bonds and blasted with cold water to awaken. 

Even under duress, he could still deduce enough to send his guard (tormentor) home to catch his cheating wife.

He wasn’t certain how much longer he would maintain consciousness, but he _would_ get through this. 

_I should have told you_ endlessly echoed in his thoughts. He didn’t trust himself with the other part. It was too much to hope for. But he _would_ get home. That hope, _uselesssentimentalweak_ , sustaining, guiding hope that he would hear those words that he could scarcely let himself think, in John’s own voice. 

 

\---

 _She was beautiful, in a plain way. Pretty and sweet. And generous…_ ‘I’ll talk him round for you’ she had said and he had no doubt that she would. 

_Wasn’t it hateful?_

Try as he might, Sherlock couldn’t hate Mary. She had pulled John back from what by all accounts was the brink. If she hadn’t been here…

_...should have told him what I was doing. I should have trusted… He would have waited._

And now it simply didn’t matter. It was far too late.

\---

Since the debacle with Mary, that fateful night when her intentions had been revealed and she’d nearly killed them both before her own demise, John had been spending more and more of his time at Baker Street. His house was closer to the clinic and most of his things were there still, but they always went to Baker Street after a case. And this had been a good one. Sherlock was mentally composing their order at the Chinese place down the street with those dumplings John favored when John interrupted his train of thought.

“I want to go home,” John said. Feeling Sherlock stiffen and still beside him in the cab, John amended, “What I mean to ask is, can I come home?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, but his shoulders relaxed. “Of course, John. You know I have always considered Baker Street our home. You are welcome anytime you like.”

“For good, I mean.” John added and something warm and long dormant bloomed in Sherlock’s chest.

“That would be wonderful, John. Truly. I can send some of the Irregulars to pick up your things, if you’d like. Or to help you pack, if you’d like. They can always use an odd job or two, besides the usual.”

John flashed a relieved smile and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good, yeah. That would be good. Tomorrow, though? I’m knackered. Thai? The Swan has that cashew chicken you’ll always eat.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to smile. “The Golden Lion is closer. I feel like dumplings”

Sherlock placed the order and had the cab drop them at the restaurant instead of Baker Street. Tired as they were they debated the merits of eating before trecking home or savoring lo mein in the comfort of their dressing gowns, before settling on eating there. The food was hot and ready when they arrived.

John was elated to be moving back, but a knot twisted low in his stomach, which had little to do with the four dumplings he'd eaten in rapid succession. Not that they helped. He meant to before this but there was the shock of having him back at all and the tentative friendship they were rebuilding, plus everything with Mary. He should say something now, before he moved back in. If it was too awkward he still had the house he supposed. He didn't want to hide how he felt anymore, but how to begin?

As John lapsed into silence, and seemed focused on his food, Sherlock talked enough for both of them, about the case and how much faster it could have been solved if the scene had been untouched.

By the time they returned home John was yawning. He'd been up since half three when the final chase began and now that he'd finally eaten all he wanted was his bed, anything else had waited this long and one more day wouldn't hurt. He said goodnight and climbed the stairs to his old room, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

For his part, Sherlock was wide awake. As much as he wanted John to come home, needed it even, he didn't want to be just flatmates and friends. Not when he knew there could have been more. 

But so much had changed. After everything… _Could John ever feel that way again?_

Slowly, and nearly certain it was a terrible idea, even if he couldn't help himself, Sherlock called Jacky to help organize a few of the lads for the move.

Sherlock pulled a favor and Jacky picked up the van they were borrowing for the day. 

John didn’t have much aside from his clothes. A good couple bookcases that would go nicely in his room along with a stained glass lamp. A few boxes of medical texts and other books he wanted to keep. Besides that, they had all of Mary’s stuff to deal with. He hadn’t had the energy the past few months, merely moving into the spare bedroom and shutting the other doors. But, with the boys coming, it made sense to deal with it all. They could take anything he didn’t want to a rummage shop before heading to Baker Street. 

John answered the door and let them all in, somehow a little surprised to see Sherlock with them. He wasn’t exactly the friend you’d call up when you needed help with a move.

“Wouldn’t packing boxes fall under your category of ‘things that are too boring to consider’?” John remarked, ushering them inside.

“That depends entirely on the company and what’s in the boxes. Things are hardly ever boring with you.” 

“Ta,” John said with a wry smile at the quasi-compliment.”So who do we have here?”

“There’s Joe,” Sherlock said, indicating a slight boy in a vest and torn denims whose auburn hair spilled out from under a newsboy cap. He looked about 10, so John was glad to hear Sherlock add, “Smart as a whip and both older and stronger than he looks.”

Joe smiled at the praise, but ducked his head shyly.

“And Angel. They’re one of the newest in the bunch. Hardworking and observant.” He patted the shoulder of a kid who looked to be about 17 wearing eyeliner, black denims, and a shirt for some band John had never heard of. 

Angel beamed, their hazel eyes alight at what they surely knew was among the highest praise Sherlock could give. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Sean helps all the new ones learn the ropes so to speak.” A broad shouldered blond boy stepped forward. He was already an inch taller than John. 

“Helps them learn the codes, who to give intel to and who to avoid and of course when to contact Jacky here to call me directly.” Sherlock continued, indicating the last boy who hung back a bit by the door. 

John took in the unruly dark curls and the work clothes that hung loosely on his lanky frame of the eldest. He must have been between 20 and 25 and hauntingly familiar. More than just his passing resemblance to Sherlock. John’s eyes narrowed for a moment and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Jacky was unsettling, both in the familiarity and in how he looked at John, but he couldn’t place him. After a momentary pause he said, “Well, pleased to meet you all. Thanks for coming to help out today. We’ve plenty of work, so best to get started. There’s plenty of boxes in here” he gestured to the stack leaning against the wall that led to the hallway. “There’s markers to label with and tape to seal them on the coffee table.”

He led Joe and Sean to start boxing books. “I need everything on these shelves, and the shelves themselves, labelled for Baker Street. Any books in the spare room can be boxed separately and put with things to donate.”

“Angel and Jacky follow me.” John led them to the bedroom he had once shared with Mary. He had already packed anything of his into a suitcase that was tucked under the spare room bed. Everything in here belonged to a life he wanted to forget. “You can pack it all to donate. If there’s anything you think any of the Irregulars can use for disguises or otherwise, you’re welcome to it. Otherwise it all goes to the rummage shop at the end of the day.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Angel said.

“None of that. Just call me John. If you need anything I’ll be sorting the kitchen with Sherlock.”

With one backward glance at Jacky, still trying to place him, John left them to work. 

“Care to help me in the kitchen? We can decide what of this lot is better than what we already have at the flat. It’s newer, certainly, but that doesn’t always mean better and you might want something for experiments. I mean, if we can find a place for it, you might like a separate micro for that.”

Sherlock eyed John as he babbled on nervously. “An excellent idea. Why don’t you make up a couple boxes and we’ll get started.”

John gave a nod, silently grateful for the direction and returned in a few moments with a couple boxes. 

They chatted and sorted, keeping a few mugs and the set of Pyrex measuring cups and the stainless steel ones. 

John laughed, “You etched that one set pretty badly. Acid, I think? You’d probably still use them for food, but I don’t trust it and can’t read the sizes anymore anyway.”

There were a number of crystal pieces of bric a brac that John didn’t care a whit about that got packed away carefully in the donation pile and some mixing bowls they determined were in better condition than the ones at Baker Street. In less than an hour they’d manage to sort it all. 

“Jacky, come help us carry these out of the kitchen.”

“You just like t’ watch me bend over, Mister Holmes,” Jacky said with a cheeky grin.

Sherlock laughed, “Nice as the view may be, that isn’t what _I_ pay you for and you know it. I’ll leave that to your night job.”

John blanched then flushed hotly. He had had a fair bit of whisky before he headed out that night and it had been years ago. No wonder he hadn’t been able to place him immediately. _Christ.  
Of course the one time John had picked up a rent boy he was one of Sherlock’s network._

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about the sensation of Jacky swallowing around him that night or how he insisted that he turn over and not speak so he could pretend for a few furtive minutes that he wasn’t lost in grief. Then Sherlock had been back for more than a year and even after Mary was gone he still hadn’t had the courage to tell him what he’d blurted out that night

“John, are you all right? Ah, I forget. John’s morals can condone a bit of bending of the rules, but that doesn’t usually extend to the direct flouting of laws, especially when not in pursuit of justice on one of our cases, and therefore he doesn’t always care to know the less legal ways some of you earn your living when I am not paying for various tasks and information.”

John cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Angel whirled into the room wearing a cocktail dress John had never seen before, still with the tags. “John, you said anything, but I wanted to check. Even this?”

“Especially that.” Sherlock answered for him.”Who knows when one of you might be called upon to spy at a festive occasion.”

“It suits you,” John said, grateful for the change of subject.

Angel took hands with Jacky and bounded around the room in an elaborate parody of ballroom dance before they both collapsed onto the couch in a fit of giggles.

“Perhaps dance lessons before then.”

“Sherlock can teach you,” John said, holding out his arms. “He even managed to teach me before my… well he’s a great teacher.” Sherlock stepped into position and they began a few steps of seamless waltz. 

“You were a perfectly adequate student, John.”

“Adequate. Thanks for that,” John said, dropping his hands.

“You made it sound as if teaching you to dance was a difficult chore. I’m merely assuring you that it wasn’t. Not because of your dancing at any rate,” Sherlock added, then wanted to kick himself.

John cleared his throat again, “The dancing wasn’t what was difficult for me, either.”

“Angel, why don’t you go pack that away with any other items you think we might use. Jacky, bring the boxes out if your done and help pack if you’re not. Joe and Sean, it looks like you’re ready to move on to the spare room. Off you go.”

They all scurried off to their assignments, understanding clearly that Sherlock and John needed to be left alone. 

“Those lessons, I… I didn’t want to let you go.”

“But you’d made your choice.”

“What choice? You can’t choose if you don’t know… You were dead. and when you were back there was already Mary and I was so...”

“Angry,” Sherlock finished for him.

“Hurt,” John said. “That you didn’t trust me.” 

“Do you trust me?”

John nodded slowly.

Sherlock stepped closer. “I’d find another way. If I had the choice again, I’d find another way.”

In his own way Sherlock had just admitted he was wrong. For the Fall. For putting John through that. If he could do that, then, John steeled himself, _then I can do this._

“When I move back, it’s to stay. Nothing is ever going to take me away again.” He licked his lips and looked up into Sherlock’s eyes. “ I love you.”

They moved as one into an embrace and Sherlock bent down as John tilted up, their lips aligning in a kiss made all the sweeter for the years of longing behind it. John licked along the seam of Sherlock’s lips and they deepened the kiss together.

“I love you, too, John,” Sherlock whispered in his ear when they finally broke apart.

After that it was a flurry of activity. The boxes were loaded and they were ready to head off. He took a last look at the place, pleased that something good at least had happened in that house. 

As he was locking up, Jacky bounded back and leaned in and whispered, “I’m glad you got to tell him.”


End file.
